


Bardic Beginnings

by Bethynyc



Category: Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 11:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1093492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethynyc/pseuds/Bethynyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How did Stefen and Medren become friends at Bardic?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bardic Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sophie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophie/gifts).



> Many thanks to my ever-patient Beta coralysendria who is wonderful! 
> 
> Sophie, I hope you like the story!

“Take care of him,” said the angular woman who had snatched him from old Berte, and closed the door, leaving Stefen alone with another boy, perhaps a year or two older.

Stefen tried to stay calm. So much had happened in the past two days that he didn't know what to think. The woman in red had claimed him for 'Valdemar' whoever that was, and dragged him away from the narrow streets that he knew. Now he was...somewhere...in a large city a day's fast ride from his old home. He'd caught a glimpse of gardens and buildings before being brought inside one and deposited in this room.

It wasn't a bad room, actually. Compared to the cellar where he'd been living with Berte, it was huge. Two beds, chairs, a long table against the wall, and a set of half-filled bookshelves stocked the room. Though a bit shabby, all of the furniture was sturdy and well made. The window was large and unbarred; he wasn't sure how far from the ground he was, but perhaps this might be an escape route, if he needed one.

It wasn't exactly the sort of room he'd pictured from the tales of child brothels he'd heard on the street, but then again, whoever actually came back from one of those?

The door opened, and a child dressed in a blue tabard with a horse on the front entered, and left a tray filled with food on the table. After settling the tray with a little fuss, the boy—younger than he was!—bowed and left the room. Listening carefully, Stefen heard no telltale click of a lock.

“What's your name?” said the other boy. Stefan startled at the sound of his voice, which was pitched low and soothing, as if the boy was trying to coax a stray. Inside, he smiled a little at the idea; perhaps he was.

“S-Stefen,” he replied. This couldn't be the breaker. Could be a fellow future whore...maybe an ally. 

“Mine's Medren. Hungry?” Stefen's stomach growled audibly, and the fresh bread smelled wonderful. “Pull up a seat.” he said, dragging a chair over to the table. “They feed us really well here.” 

Stefen followed him. He was hungry, and even if it was drugged, at least he would be full. Medren offered him first choice of the bread, cheese, and pears, pouring cider into two mugs. “Usually we eat in the common room, but since you're so new, they thought you should settle in a bit first.”

The bread was suddenly dry in Stefen's mouth. “How long?”

“Before you settle in? You'll probably be ready in a week, maybe less. Most of us take about that long.”

 _A week?_ thought Stefen. _Could I escape before then?_

Medren seemed to catch his nervousness. “Don't worry. All the masters are very understanding. If you don't know something, they'll make sure you get extra help so you can catch up.”

Stefen swallowed hard and took a deep drink from his mug. He'd have to find a way to escape soon. 

“First, though, we get you some uniforms and into the bathing room.”

“Bathing?” asked Stefen. “But...”

Medren smiled again. “I know, you're probably used to the bathhouse once a week at best, but we have to keep clean. It is very important.”

Stefen shuddered inside, wondering if being dirty might help him stay...innocent. “What kind of uniforms?” 

“Like mine.” Medren leaned back in his chair, and Stefen saw that his clothing was all rust colored, tunic, shirt, trews, even his soft boots were the same brownish-red. “It lets everyone know who we are. Like how the Heraldic trainees wear Greys.”

“Oh.” That would make escaping harder. “How...what's it like here?”

“Oh, its great!” Medren pushed his chair back, very excited. “All the lessons are really interesting—I never knew how much I didn't know, you know? And we have plenty of free time, though most of us spend it practicing. They teach you everything, not just vocals and instruments...” _What are those?_ wondered Stefen. “...but also composition, theory, practicals, how to deal with clients and patrons, oh, everything!”

Well. That gave Stefen an opening. “When does that happen—the clients?”

Medren sighed. “Not for years, of course. Lots of training. And my patrons will want me to come back to Forst Reach, I'm sure. I'd like to travel a bit, though. I'll get to do that as a Journeyman.”

“That's a relief.”

“Really?” Medren looked at Stefen and cocked his head to the side. “Lynell said you were quite a performer—are you sure you wouldn't miss it?”

Stefen choked on his cider. “What? No! I've never...performed! I'm only ten!”

Medren scrunched up his face. “But...she heard you. Singing. That's why you're here, because of singing.”

“What does singing have to do with being a whore?”

Now it was Medren's turn to choke. “A whore? Where did you get that idea?”

“When the lady came and took me away from Berte, she said I was for Valdemar. I'd never heard of a Valdemar before, so I thought...”

Medren covered his mouth. “You thought you were being taken to a whorehouse!”

“Why _else_ would someone take a child off the street?” Stefen said sharply. He could see Medren's eyes crinkling in suppressed laughter, and a sudden wave of anger washed through him, leaving embarrassment in its wake. 

The giggling boy next to him waved one hand. “I'm sorry, it's just...the idea of _Lynell_ as a procurer...”

The tall, horsey woman who brought him to this place came to mind, and one corner of his mouth crept upwards. It _was_ funny, since she was so stiff and mannered—except when she sang. As he thought about it, Stefen realized that she simply didn't know how to deal with children, especially a street brat.

It only took one blurted laugh for Medren to lose his control and for both of them to collapse on the floor.

After a good laugh, Medren wiped the tears from his eyes. “Let’s start again. I’m Medren. You are Stefen. We are trainees at Bardic Collegium, and we are going to be amazing Bards who create and perform music, and we are going to be trained here to the very best of our abilities. But first, let’s get you some uniforms.”

That was the moment when Stefen realized that he had a real friend in Medren. Once his fears were removed, Stefen was eager to learn everything he could as fast as he could. He was starting from the absolute bottom—he couldn’t even read. Despite the laws in Valdemar that required schooling to a certain point, as a beggar child, he hadn’t known school existed, and Berte was not going to let him take time away from singing for coin to attend school. 

He learned quickly though, with Medren eager to help. They found picture books passed down from high born families and read them together, Medren patiently explaining just who and what all of the people did as best he could. The beggar child and the country bumpkin who were the youngest of the current trainees at Bardic helped each other negotiate those early, difficult days together.

~*~*~*~

A couple of months later, the two were practicing “My Lady's Eyes” together, with Medren playing the lute and singing the harmony, and Stefen's bell-like soprano taking the main line, when Stefen stopped.

“This song is _awful_!”

“I know! But the tune is lovely, and it's Lady Treesa's favorite.” Medren ran through one of the more complicated parts at half speed. “Uncle Van always complains, but he always plays it for her.”

Stefen stared at him. “You never mentioned that you had family in Haven!”

Medren shrugged. “Well, he's a Herald, so he isn't here most of the time. You may have noticed that some of the highborn Blues and Bardic trainees snub us?”

“Oh, they do? I hadn't noticed,” said Stefen sarcastically. He'd been called 'gutter rat' and 'beggar boy' in passing, along with a few shoulder knocks from people that he could never identify.

“Well, they don't do more than that to me—and now you—because of him. And Great-aunt Savil. They're Herald-Mages, so that's some protection.”

Stefen was stunned. He squeaked “Your...uncle...Van? Is _Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron???_ ”

“Don't go all goosey on me! We don't see him much, but yes, he is.” Medren narrowed his eyes at Stefen. “He's still human, for all the power he has. And he's pretty lonely.”

After thinking a moment, Stefen nodded. “That makes sense. And seems kind of sad.”

Medren strummed the opening notes of “My Lady's Eyes” again. _“My lady's thiiiiiighs, are huge in siiiiiize!”_ he sang mournfully.

Stefen collapsed in giggles before joining in. _“As huge as any ewe!”_

 _”With all that...haaaaaaiiiir”_ Medren jangled on his lute.

 _”Just like a beeeeeaaaaaaar!_ chimed in Stefen, _”It's really hard to screw!”_

They looked at each other and snorted in laughter.

~*~*~*~

It was only a coincidence that a few days later a new parody of "My Lady's Eyes" appeared. The Bardic students latched onto it gleefully; the lovely tune, with new profane lyrics, echoed throughout the Bardic Collegium's practice rooms and dormitory hallways. When it eventually got out who had written the new lyrics, their composition teacher, Bard Wolfgang, made the two youngest Bardic trainees research all of the previous parody versions in the Bardic archives. It was obvious by his barely concealed amusement that Wolfgang's heart wasn't in the punishment—but that didn't matter to Stefen and Medren. They emerged from the dusty archives with fodder for another dozen versions. 

Which they _never_ wrote. Not at all.


End file.
